


Journeys end in lovers’ meetings

by belmanoir



Series: The road to romance [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: Jack buys Ariya flowers. Ariya is suspicious of his motives.Set a couple of weeks after part 1.





	Journeys end in lovers’ meetings

Jack’s been weirdly quiet since his match with Brian Kendrick. He didn’t say a word during their workout this morning in their fancy hotel’s fancy gym. Ariya doesn’t like it. He doesn’t trust it. Probably it’s got nothing to do with him, but he’s not sure that makes it better.

Actually, he’s pretty sure it makes it worse.

_What is it like not to want people to like you?_ Jack asked him. Jack doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. 

Ariya reminds himself that Jack does like him. That he’s said so multiple times. He said so right after that, actually. _I liked you straightaway, the moment I saw you._

But what did Jack like, anyway? What could Jack have possibly known the moment they met, except that Ariya was good-looking? He can’t know much if he really thinks he’s the only one in the room with insecurities. 

Ariya knows he’s got no one to blame but himself if people don’t know what he’s thinking, given that he hates talking about it. You can’t expect people to read your mind. Especially after just a few months of dating. 

Ariya forgot how stressful dating is. He forgot how you end up obsessing about stupid shit in the shower. He uses up some of Jack’s expensive-ass shampoo to get back at him. Fuck Jack anyway. 

Then he thinks about fucking Jack. It’s really, really good. It probably shouldn’t be. Jack has the palest ass Ariya has maybe ever seen in his life, and he scrunches his face up and clutches his head and drums his feet on the bed, playing to the cheap seats, and Ariya wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go. 

Turning off the water, he scrubs himself dry, not very gently, and eyes himself in the mirror. Not bad, he guesses. Whatever. He tries to imagine seeing himself for the first time. It’s true, you wouldn’t think that guy wanted to be liked. You’d probably think he didn’t like you. 

Of course, he _didn’t_ like Jack when they first met. That came later. It came on strong, though. Sometimes he has to push it back just to get through the day. 

It’s Wednesday, the start of their weekend. Jack’s too far from home to make the trip every time, and Ariya’s started staying with him more and more, instead of flying to Minnesota. He feels a little guilty about it, but his mom is excited he’s seeing someone and claims she doesn’t mind. Now if he can just get her to stop asking him if it’s serious... 

This weekend Jack said he wanted to stay in a nicer hotel. Ariya doesn’t really get the point. Yeah, okay, the sheets are nice and smooth, and he’s taken some pictures for Instagram since he’s pretending to be rich now. But the bed isn’t any more comfortable and a marble bathroom counter only looks good until you spread out your stuff on it. Whatever. If it makes Jack happy, he doesn’t mind. Maybe the room service will be extra delicious. He can smell his steak and eggs as he opens the bathroom door, his mood lifting. 

“Yes, thanks a million,” Jack tells someone at the door. “Here you go.” The food is already set up on the fancy round table by the billowy-curtained windows, Jack’s electric kettle sitting by the coffee pot. He must be tipping. Ariya wanders over to his bed and waits for the door to shut so he can drop his towel and get dressed. 

It shuts, and he looks up. Jack is holding a giant red and gold mess of flowers. And Ariya means mess, chaotic and lopsided and magnificent and expensive-looking, straggling over his arms, brushing his face, and blocking his shoulders from view. 

Jack makes a squeaking noise. “I, um, I wanted to talk to you about something, what would you say to putting on some trousers? And perhaps a shirt. Not that I’m not...” He trails off. Ariya can’t decide if he’s paler than usual, or if it’s just the morning light. 

“Who sent you flowers?” Ariya asks, trying to sound casual in case Jack says, _Oh, these? They’re from my mother. Now about that talk..._

As always, Ariya’s mind goes right to the worst option: these are apology flowers, because Jack cheated on him. He knows it’s paranoid but he starts going through the roster anyway. Rich Swann. It would have to be Rich Swann. Ariya can kill him when he’s through with his little friend TJP. 

“They’re, um...” Jack clears his throat. “I ordered them. One of those nice chaps on a bicycle brought them from the shop. They’re for you, actually.” He clears his throat again. “This is not...I meant for them to come after we’d finished breakfast. I know how cross you are when you’re hungry.” He swivels as if trying to figure out what to do with the flowers.

Ariya isn’t sure he’s ever seen Jack so flustered. Cheating might not actually be the worst option, he realizes. The stone in the pit of his stomach grows. Are these break-up flowers? Jack seems like the kind of guy that would really agonize over breaking someone’s heart. He would try to let them down gently and make everything a million times worse.

Ariya suddenly notices that Jack’s things are packed. He’s always neat, but not _that_ neat. The only thing of his still out is the kettle, sitting next to his stupid fruit and croissant. Like that’s enough food after weight training. 

Jack just stands there, waiting, dapper and perfectly groomed. His hair is still wet from his own shower, so there’s not a strand out of place. Ariya feels vulnerable in his towel, and a little nauseous. 

He crosses his arms over his chest. Jack probably wants him to take the flowers, but he’s not accepting them until he knows what they’re for. You don’t need to _talk_ about _Happy anniversary._ And it isn’t their anniversary. Is it? He tries to count backwards but all he can remember is that they hooked up for the first time some time in May. What is that, four months? Maybe it’s been a hundred days—is that a thing in England? 

“They’re very nice,” he says flatly.

Jack peers down at the bouquet. Probably he can’t see much that close up. “I, um...probably I should call the desk and ask for a vase, but that would be even more awkward, wouldn’t it? My apologies, I really intended this to be a suaver gesture.” 

Ariya grits his teeth. _Stop being adorable and spit it out._

“Well. Needs must when the devil drives.” Jack squares his shoulders. “Have you heard of the language of flowers?” 

Ariya stares. “Are you kidding me?” 

Jack clears his throat again. “It originated in the court in Constantinople, actually, it’s an interesting...well, anyway, the Victorians stole it, as they did so much else, and used it for conveying...subtextual messages.” 

“Like...gay stuff?” 

Jack looks pleased that Ariya is showing an interest. “Sometimes! Green carnations, particularly. _Please stop hitting on me_ was also a popular theme, as Victorian gentlemen were no more gentlemanly than gentlemen of any other era.” 

Ariya looks at his flowers, bright and beautiful and dying. “If you want me to stop hitting on you, it would be a lot cheaper to just say so.” 

Jack gives a strangled laugh. “No, um, that was simply...an interesting tidbit of knowledge. I—just the opposite actually. Here, let me show you. Interpretations differ, but I’ve relied on Kate Greenaway’s seminal text.” He shifts to balance the flowers on one hip like a toddler, and points out some snapdragons. “These are snapdragons.” 

Ariya barely keeps himself from growling, _I know_. 

“They mean ‘presumption.’ Because I...I know that we haven’t been seeing each other very long, and I know...well. I know that what I’m going to say is presumptuous and I want you to know that I know, and consequently that I don’t expect any particular response. I merely want you to know.” 

Ariya blinks. A sudden hope unfurls in his chest. He tamps it down. 

“This is red columbine. It means ‘anxious and trembling.’ It’s probably self-evident that that represents my own emotional state at the moment.” 

Maybe Ariya should take the flowers. Maybe he should call down for a vase, or kiss Jack, or do _something_ to make him less nervous. But he doesn’t. He can’t stand the idea of doing it, and then being wrong after all and looking like a fool.

Jack flicks a finger at a cluster of translucent round red berries Ariya recognizes from labels at the Russian groceries in Plymouth. “The currants mean ‘thy frown will kill me’.” He smiles at Ariya, an anxious trembling smile. “Not literally. Fortunately. No pressure. I just wanted you to know that despite my occasional clowning, I take this very seriously. This is...”

Jack trails off. His fingertip traces a rose petal. “Austrian rose means ‘thou art all that is lovely’,” he says very quietly, and looks up at Ariya through his lashes. 

Ariya can’t breathe. “I thought you wanted me to put on a shirt,” he gets out, trying not to smile. Not to look happy. Things seem more promising by the minute, but upsets happen all the time. Especially to Ariya.

Jack’s face brightens hopefully. “Only to aid my concentration. I, um...” There’s a long silence. 

Ariya points at the tulips. “What about those?” 

Jack swallows. “And here we come to it.” He takes a deep breath. “Red tulips mean a declaration of love.” 

There’s a _whomp_ in his chest and a ringing in his ears. Ariya’s eyes won’t focus. The room seems far away, unreal. He’s breathing shallow, too fast. That’s probably why. 

“Yes, well,” Jack says. “It’s quite all right if you don’t reciprocate. I was just becoming preoccupied about it so I thought, better to get it in the open. Lance the wound, so to speak. Not a very British way of handling things, perhaps, but...” There’s one flower left he hasn’t mentioned, a wildflower-looking thing with ragged red-and-yellow petals. “This is Coreopsis Arkansa.” He chuckles. “Also called ‘tickseed,’ much less glamorously. It means ‘love at first sight’.” 

_I liked you straightaway, the moment I saw you._ And Jack’s been squirrelly ever since. Ariya thought it had nothing to do with him, but it was all about him the whole time. 

Nothing bad is going to happen. 

Ariya has to say something. He can’t just leave Jack hanging after all that. But can he say it back? Does he love Jack? His ribs curve protectively across his chest, protesting the idea. “You packed your things.” 

Jack glances at his suitcase. “I did, didn’t I? That’s in case you want me to leave. I hope my affection isn’t as alarming as all that, but one never knows, does one.” 

Ariya reaches for the flowers. They scratch and poke at his bare chest, their weight settling awkwardly into his arms. They smell nice. 

He never buys flowers because he hates when they die. He’s going to hate when these die. 

Jack’s hands dangle awkwardly at his sides. He’s in his shirtsleeves, suspenders hanging, and now that Ariya can’t, he wants to hug him. 

“Sorry,” Ariya says. “This isn’t where I thought this conversation was going.” Which isn’t his fault, because Jack sets everything up on purpose to throw him off balance. “I don’t want you to leave. The flowers are pretty, thanks. Red and gold.” 

“For your gear during our matches,” Jack explains helpfully, perking up a bit. 

This is why the nice hotel, Ariya realizes. Jack planned out a whole weird English scenario. For Ariya. 

Love at first sight. The stupid gentleman’s duel was for Ariya too, and the parlay. He’s known that for a while, hasn’t he? Jack is weird and passive-aggressive and he loves a rib, but Ariya should probably stop assuming he has some dark ulterior motive for everything. He’s just trying to get Ariya to pay attention to him. He probably thinks Ariya is playing hard to get, even though most days Ariya feels pretty fucking easy for him. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” he says finally. “But this was a good surprise.” _I don’t know if I could do this without you,_ Jack told him a couple weeks ago. Everything in Ariya squirms at the idea of admitting it, but he grits his teeth and spits out, “I don’t know if I could do this without you either.” 

He’d have to. Quitting isn’t an option. But he thinks about slogging through week after week of humiliating losses and mockery and boos, sitting silently in his room with earbuds in so Noam Dar would leave him alone, and trying to pretend to his family like everything was going great, and he feels leaden. Sick. 

Whereas instead, things are okay. Pretty good, actually. “I care. About this. About...” He gestures at Jack. 

Jack grins. “Yes, quite.” He sounds like he thinks Ariya’s fumbling is cute. Ariya doesn’t think it’s that cute, but it’s Jack’s opinion that counts on that one. 

A petal drifts to the floor, and suddenly Ariya gets the thing about fucking in a bed full of rose petals. He wants to see one of these sticking to Jack’s cheek or caught in his mussed hair. 

He doesn’t want any more petals to fall off, though. “Ask if the front desk has any of that flower food stuff,” he says. “You know.” 

Jack smiles. “I’ll take care of it. Here, give those back. I don’t want your breakfast to get cold.” He gives Ariya a quick peck on the mouth as he takes them. 

Ariya’s breakfast is definitely cold by now, and nothing’s worse than chewing lukewarm scrambled eggs. 

He realizes he could totally tell Jack to buy him a fresh breakfast, and Jack would do it. Because Jack loves him. 

Ariya sits down to his cold meal with a deep sense of satisfaction. He doesn’t bother putting on a shirt. It’s not quite warm enough in the room to be comfortable, but he’s still got those nice post-workout muscles and he likes the way Jack looks at them. Besides, it would be a waste of time when he and Jack are just going to get naked again soon anyway. 

He watches Jack trying to deal with the phone and the flowers at the same time. Impulsively, he goes over and picks one of the roses. “What did you say these ones meant?” he asks, even though he remembers. 

“Thou art all that is lovely.” 

Ariya tucks it behind Jack’s ear. “That’s what I thought.” And then he can’t wait any more. He takes the flowers back. “Hang up the phone. I’m putting these in the sink.” 

Jack’s pointy little face lights up, and it hits Ariya again that Jack really, really cares what he thinks. That Jack’s been anxiously obsessing in the shower too. That delighted look on his face is because of Ariya. 

Maybe he should tell his mom it’s serious. And ask her how to press flowers. 

Nothing bad is going to happen. Not today, anyway. 


End file.
